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sex poem

têm você não ouvido
mas alas, sonhos justos
como eu me encontro telhado dentro, selecionado dentro
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
esse ano
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
caído assim
eu disse
não há nenhum escape pelo rio
este é o arsenal

 



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